The Dream Prince Walks
Untitled | Maria Sokolowski | Painting
The Dream Prince Walks by Ben Lapin
The sun has set, but the moon has not yet risen. Red, orange, and gold leaves fall from trees and drift through on wind. They fall onto the packed-earth road and rest there. No one is walking tonight.
A figure appears on the horizon, tall and spindly in the dim starlight. He walks beside an old mule, and he holds a sack over his shoulder. He walks down the road, with a determined air about him. Every step through the empty countryside brings him closer to his destination
The polished tables in the quiet tavern shine in the moonlight. A few patrons sit and drink their cider and ale. Some of them make conversation with each other. Others sit in silence, watching the world go by. The sturdy old door swings open with a creak. The Dream Prince has come to visit.
The patrons and bartender have heard tales of him before. The Dream Prince walks in the dead of night, wearing his beautiful mask and his patchwork hat, singing a song that seems strangely familiar. If you cross his path on the road, your dreams will be full of fairies and elves with bright eyes and sharp teeth. If you trade words with him, he'll stay in your memories and the corner of your eyes, for almost a week afterward.
If you stay in his presence, the tales say, the memories will take longer to fade, and you'll hear his songs ringing in your ears once the memories are long gone.
The patrons and the bartender know all of this. They silently stare at the Dream Prince as he stands in the doorway with his pale porcelain mask and sack so covered in patches, the brown fabric is hard to recognize. There is silence in the tavern for a long moment. And then, the Dream Prince speaks with a voice like honey: "Is there a place where I can stable my mule?"
The bartender silently points out the window of the left wall, where the stables can be seen. The Dream Prince waves a hand in thanks and walks back out.
The bartender and the patrons watch in silence as the Dream Prince leads his mule into the stables and does not return. The patrons begin to look questioningly at each other. After five minutes, they begin to relax.
And then, the Dream Prince steps out of the shadowy corner of the tavern, with a ball of white light in his open palm. He speaks again: "Would any of you care for a dance?"
The patrons look at each other, confused. Some stand and move towards the door.
With a wave of the Dream Prince's hand, the door swings shut. From some corner of the room, or perhaps just in the people's ears, an organ begins to play.
The Dream Prince begins his wild dance, twirling and leaping and somersaulting across the floor. One by one, the patrons begin to dance as well. They jump and spin to the music that echoes through the room, their faces filled with glee.
Finally, the Dream Prince tires of the dance. The music winds down, and the patrons slow to a standstill and sit, as they were. The Dream Prince is gone when they wake up from their state of confusion. His mule is gone from the stable when they think to check. The only sign he was ever there is the pair of footprints on the road, going on out of the woods.
The patrons and the bartender know that their dreams will not be their own for a long time coming.
